


Love & Death

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Strange Magic - Fandom
Genre: Brownies, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Rock and Roll, Seelie Court, Unseelie Court, Urban Fantasy, War for the Oaks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t your people ever write songs about anything besides love and death” - War For the Oaks, 1987</p><p>Rock n’ Roll guitarist, Marianne McFayden has had a very rough day. She’s dumped her cheating boyfriend, her band’s broken up. Then, walking home on a dark night, she finds herself unwillingly drafted into an invisible war between the fairie folk. </p><p>Just when she thought life couldn’t get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *disclaimer: I’m getting out now; While a lot of the book’s plot is going to be altered, I am going to take a lot, especially descriptions and occasional dialogue, directly from the book. I want to make sure that credit is very much due to Emma Bull. She is an incredible author. That said, enjoy.*

_“There is a woman who will do, I think” - War for the Oaks, 1987_

* * *

 

At night, the Nicollet Mall wound through Minneapolis like a quiet, calm stream - the usual people that traversed it like a canal by day long vanished. The globes of street lamps glowed like a hundred moons, lighting the pathway through the silent businesses, a silver river through the varied dark colors surrounding it. The sound of traffic from nearby highways muffled somehow, distant and unobtrusive.

But on that night, there were voices in Nicollet Mall. 

Near the south end of the mall, in front of Orchestra Hall, sat Peavey Plaza, with it’s greatest attraction; a fountain - a reflecting pool and a cascade that fell from many cylinders to a sunken walk-in maze of stone pillars. Fountain, in fact, was an inadequate name. In the moonlight, is was black and silver, full of a play of shadows, shape and contrast. 

Two small shadows, no bigger than squirrels, seemed to dislodge from the darkness cast by the fountain pillars, though they moved and breathed as though they had run a great distance. They looked up at the glittering display of water before them, and appeared to be waiting for something.

“Tell me,” said a voice that echoed as if speaking from behind the curtain of water, melodic and flowing, it could have been the fountain itself, “what you have found.”

There was an oof as one shadow shoved the other, then a whiny voice left one. “There’s a woman we found. We feel she will do.”

The fountain voice seemed to sizzle. “You are our eyes in this, you realize. You will need to do better than that.”

A deeper voice came from the other shadow. “She is a musician. Dark haired and brown eyed. She seems strong enough, and clever. We find she will do well, shall we bring her to you?”

A rough voice silenced every voice there. “Or perhaps, you could bring her to me.”

The voice came from a larger shadow, sitting across the plaza from the fountain. Thin and lanky, one might have mistaken the creature for a pedestrian, a human drunk spending the spring night in the open air, if not for the way he spoke, commanding without raising his voice, calling to order the otherworldly with a simple sentence.

The female voice recovered first. “If you had found your choice already you could have spared us this trouble.”

The voiced laughed, a growling kind of sound. “A musician,” he mused. “In another time, we would have found her long before, for that alone. We’ve grown slow in this easy life,” he said, as if he wanted to say something very different.

The fountain sizzled, frustrated, and he laughed again. “I had not, in fact, found her - but if she is all that you say, I will consider her if you will show her to me.” The creature stood, and with no show or seeming preparation, vanished.

There was a silence filled only with every creature exhaling in shaky relief.

The first, whiney shadow spoke. “Will she do what she's meant to?”

The water voice laughed, a half-bitter sound, like sleet on a window. “With all the Court against her if she refuses? Oh, if he fancies her, she’ll do - pity her if she stands against us.”

And both small shadows nodded solemnly. 


	2. Chapter 2

Marianne McFayden scowled at the University Bar’s tiny and dimly lit stage - the band’s equipment threatened to overflow it. She tried to wedge her guitar stand out of the way, but it still seemed likely to trip someone up. It was a good thing their keyboard player had quit the week before; there wasn’t room for him.

“I think,” she said. “That this job was a bad idea.”

The first set had been bad enough, the bar nearly empty. The next two were worse; too many country fans with requests for old favorites. And of course, Roland, the bandleader, had accepted them all, played them horribly, and made it plain he didn’t care. They were the wrong band for that bar.

But for InKline Plain, Minneapolis’s most misspelled band, it was better than they’d had in over two weeks. At least they were being promised fifty dollars per band member. 

Her companion nodded solemnly. “Every time you’ve said that this evening, it’s sounded smarter.” Dawn McFayden was Marianne’s younger sister, and the band’s drummer. With her bob of soft blonde hair and eyes an electric blue, she looked as out of place as the band sounded.

“It would have been smarter to tell Roland it was a bad idea,” Marianne said. “Like, before he booked the job.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I could. I did. Look at this place.”

Dawn sighed. “I’m gonna hear the ‘this band sucks’ speech again.”

“Well, it does.”

“Through a straw, I know. So why don’t you quit?”

Marianne looked at her, startled, then at the ceiling. “Why don’t you?”

Dawn followed her gaze, her voice wistful. “It’s fun, or used to be. Used to be steady, too.”

Marianne tsked. “You don’t even have my excuse.”

“You mean I haven’t been sleeping with Roland?”

“Yeah,” Marianne groaned, closing her eyes. “That one.”

It wasn’t even a good excuse, seeing as she hadn’t actively been sleeping with Roland Kline for over a month. Realizing that he was picking up drunk girls after shows didn’t exactly inspire her to continue sharing a bed with him. God, what was her problem? Talked about leaving the band, but never did. Talked about dumping Roland’s ass, but still had not. Did she just have no follow-through? There was so much she wanted to do, a life she wanted to have, and this is where she was.

Dawn went to finish setting up her kit, and Marianne almost made it to the stage before Roland took her arm. His face was flushed, his golden hair rumpled. She sighed. “You’re drunk, Roland,” she said, her tone gentler than she had expected it to be.

His grimace twisted his male-model features, “Don’t worry ‘bout me so much, sweet thing - I know what ‘m doin’.” 

She should have felt angry, or ashamed, but instead she felt a sort of distant wonder: _I used to be in love with him_. “You want to do easy stuff this set?”

His tone hardened a fraction. “I said don’t worry about it, babe.”

Marianne shrugged. “Okay, it’s your hanging.”

“Hey,” he grabbed her arm again. “I want you to be nicer to the managers.”

“What?”

He waved his hand, the movement slow and clumsy. “Don’t look at me like that. Just flirt. It’s good for the band.”

Marianne counted to ten, and spoke steadily. “Roland, you don’t get gigs by sending the guitarist to flirt with the manager. You get gigs by playing good music.”

“I play good music.”

“We play anything that’s already been played to death and we don’t even play it well. You in a betting mood?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll bet you the nice man at the bar tells us not to come back tomorrow.”

His face twister further, this time in anger. “Damn it. That’s   _my_ fault, is it?”

For a long moment, Marianne thought she might shout back at him, but it was laughter, bitter and almost hysterical, that came in its stead. Roland’s look of dumb surprise fed it, doubled it. He walked away, muttering something about her losing it, and she swung up onto the stage.

“Pare back from break yet?” She asked, catching Dawn’s eye over the cymbals. Marianne took her blood-red Rickenbacker from the stand and flipped the strap over her shoulder.

Dawn shook her head.

“Good. Let’s figure out the setlist.”

“But we’ve got a setlist…?”

“Let’s make a new one.” She grinned, “Getting hung anyways and I want to leave this band in a blaze of glory.”

Dawn’s eyes grew wide. “Then you’re really- jesus. Okay. Setlist. Can we dump all the Elvis?”

Marianne laughed. “Oh yeah. Let’s show this dive we at least flirt with modern music, yeah?”

They came up with songs in a few minutes, ignoring the look of suspicion Roland was giving them. He slung on his guitar and ran through some elaborate effects - more showing off, Marianne thought, than doing a soundcheck.

Pare, their bass player, came on stage a minute later, smiling at the girls and glaring at Roland. A large man, older than the rest of the crew, Pare was all right in his own way; but he liked country rock over rock and roll n’ roll and it was obvious his enthusiasm had run thin a long time ago. He liked Marianne and treated Dawn like a princess, but he and Roland had never seen eye-to-eye and the relationship grew more strained by the day. Marianne was actually surprised he had outlast their keyboardist. 

Dawn was watching her, waiting for her cue to start. “Gimme a count,” Marianne said, and Roland scowled at the both of them. Dawn counted and they kicked off with a semblance of unity. 

They began on their usual cover songs, Del Shannon’s “Runaway” a couple of Stones tracks, and then then Marianne and Dawn began a series of impromptu girl-group vocals, diving into the Bangles’ “In a Different Light”

For the first time in the night, people began to dance. Marianne hoped it wasn’t too late to impress their manager, but she feared it was. Still, she gave her all as she continued to sing. Folk were still dancing, the band actually felt together, and Marianne felt as if she’d done it all herself, in a burst of goddesslike musical energy. 

Then she saw the man standing at the edge of the dance floor. His tanned skin seemed too dark for his features. His hair was dark, slicked back aside from a few strands that fell on his forehead. His eyes were slanted under thick arched brows, his nose was sharp and slightly aquiline. He wore a long dark coat with the collar up, a forest green scarf under it. When she looked at him, he met her eyes boldly, and grinned.

Marianne snagged the mic stand, took what step forward she could on the stage, and sang the last verse at him.

In the end, she was the first to look away. His look of silent challenge made her skin prickle and his sloping eyes had been full of reflected light and colors that shone nowhere in the room.

Marianne wanted to end on something powerful, but halfway through a ZZ Top number, the power amp finally died on them. The microphone’s failed and Roland, always his best in the fact of adversity, lost his temper.He made it impossible to end gracefully but god help her if Dawn and her didn’t try, ending in a flourish of notes. She swept the dying crowd an ironic bow. 

At the corner of her vision she saw the dark-coated figure move toward the door.

Marianne began packing up her things, listening with half an ear as the manager pulled Roland aside. Well, guess I won that bet, she thought with a sigh. 

“I booked a five-piece! You damn well did break your contract!” The manager growled.

Dawn looked up from packing the electronics up. “Oh man, you mean we’re not even going to get paid?” Marianne shook her head sadly, and her sister patted her arm. “Well, we did what we could.”

She laughed softly, “Well, gotta go out in a blaze of _something_.” Dawn snorted.

Finished sorting her things, she spotted Pare packing up and lopped over, casual as she could. “Hey,” she said.

He smiled his usual absent smile. “Hullo, Mari. Roland still at it?”

“Still at what?”

“Ah, you know,” he shook his head. “Screwing up.” Marianne bit her lip so she didn’t laugh; it really wasn’t funny. But Pare caught her smile and his own grew. “You going?”

“Yeah. I mean, that is, I’m leaving the band.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Oh, well. Guess I just wanted to say bye, then. I’ll miss you.” Which was, she realized, more the truth than saying she’d miss the band, that she’d even miss Roland.

Pare shrugged. “I’m thinkin I’ll quit gigging, too. Friend of mine, Liz, has a farm out past Shakopee, says I can stay there. She’s got goats and beehives, all sorts a’ stuff.” He looked at her and his deep voice lost some of its dreaminess. “You know, you’re really good, Mari - you and your sister. I don’t much like that stuff, you know, but you’re good.”

Marianne didn’t know how to respond to that, so she just hugged him. “Bye, Pare.”

Returning to Dawn she helped her sister pack up the rest of her gear. “Pare leaving, too?” she asked. Marianne nodded. “Damn, we really did kill the band in one fell swoop tonight.”

Marianne was halfway through standing, ready to load everything into Dawn’s ancient Station Wagon, and looked at her, startled. “You’re leaving?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Uh, _duh_. Even if I were interested in playing in a band without my sister - which I’m not - Roland would whine about what a traitor you were, I’d tell him he never deserved you and I’d end up walking out anyway. This saves all the trouble.” 

Marianne slung an arm around her shoulder. “You’re an angel.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dawn waved her off, grinning. “So start a band I can drum in.”

Marianne laughed and helped bring their things to the wagon. It didn’t occur to her to say anything to Roland before they left.

Dawn turned them north. Marianne leaned back in her seat watching the Minneapolis skyline rise up behind them. “I love this view,” she sighed. “Even the Metrodome doesn’t look half bad - like some overgrown glow-in-the-dark fungus.”

Dawn laughed. “That was awfully poetic of you, sis.”

“Yeah,” Marianne flopped around to face the windshield. “Dawn, am I doing the right thing?”

“You mean dumping Mr. Potato Head?”

Marianne giggled and snorted in the most undignified manner. “Yeah, but it was a pretty good looking potato.”

“And solid all the way through,” Dawn nodded. They drove in silence before she added. “So, are you going to start a band?”

She slumped. “Jesus, Dawn. It’s such a crappy way to make a living. You work your ass off only to end up playing cover tunes in deadbeat bars.”

“So we don’t start that kind of band.”

“Oh and what band do we start?”

“Originals, absolutely new stuff. High class, only the good venues.”

Marianne stared at her. “Yeah, okay. And while I’m at it I’ll go apply to be CEO at IBM.” She sighed. 

“Give it time,” Dawn said with a shrug. “You don’t remember how awful it is having a normal job.”

“Not as awful as being with Roland.”

“Oh, worse,” her sister said with mock seriousness. “They make you sit at a desk all day and eat vending machine donuts.”

“Now that,” Marianne said. “Is a job I can handle.”

Another silence took the car and Marianne suddenly found herself feeling uncharacteristically carsick. The wind was rustling the barely budded trees, and without feeling it, Marianne knew it to be the damp, almost wild breezes that spring brought - nothing winter left in it. It made her restless, made her want to run, to yell…

“Roll the windows down.”

“Marianne, are you crazy? It’s freezing.”

Marianne rolled hers down, but it didn’t help. She felt both jittery and exhausted. What should she do now? What could she do? Before InKline Plain she had once worked as a security guard at an old factory. Her imagination transformed every shadow into an imaginary assailant - by the end of two weeks, the shadows were full and she quit. She did everything else with her hands too slowly, except for play guitar. 

As for a normal love affair? Well, it wasn’t impossible. Marianne was attractive enough, though not a beauty like Dawn; brown hair and eyes with strong features. and clear skin. She was small and slender and knew how to choose her clothes. But she just wasn’t sure where to find men that weren’t… well, musicians.

“Mighty quiet,” Dawn said, like she knew why.

“Mm… I guess I’m just realizing the consequences of everything.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said.

“Yeah, but… would you call me tomorrow? Around two-ish? I figure I’ll call Roland at one and tell him we’re through.”

“And you want someone to tell you everything’s gonna be okay.”

Marianne grinned. “You know I’ve done it for you more than once.”

The light was red and the car stopped. This was the corner where they’d have to start navigating the sea of one-way streets to get to Marianne’s apartment. 

“Let me off here,” she said suddenly.

“What? Why?”

“I want to walk, it’s a nice night.”

Dawn stared at her, shocked. “It’s freezing - and you’ll get murdered!”

“You’re still too used to home,” she laughed. “You think any place with buildings over three stories is full of murderers.”

“And I’m right! Besides, what about your stuff?”

It was true; she couldn’t haul her equipment down fourteen blocks. She was about to settle back into the seat when Dawn spoke again. “I know, I know. ‘Dawn, dear sister, would you mind taking them home with you and then bringing them back out again when you come over to keep me from being miserable because I broke up with my boyfriend?’ Sure, Mari, what are sister’s for?”

Marianne giggled. “For a baby sister, you make a great mother.”

“Jeez, will you just go? The light’s changed twice already!” After Marianne bounced out and slammed the door, Dawn called, “I’ll call you at two!”

“Thanks sis!” Marianne yelled back.

She turned down the street, following the library toward Nicollet Mall. Whatever had seized her in the car wouldn’t be summoned back now. She shook her head and continued down the mall, hoping it would shake off her melancholy mood. She hummed several different songs at once, settling at last on Heart’s “Straight On”. Humming began soft singing as she walked.

Then she saw the figure standing by the bus shelter across the street. 

By the shape it was a man, broad shouldered and tall in a long, fitted coat. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to even turn his head, but Marianne suddenly understood what it meant to have a bullet with one’s name on it. This figure had her name on him.

 _You must be feeling pretty low, girl,_ she scolded herself, _if you think every poor idiot who’s missed his bus is lying in wait for you_. Still, the man seemed naggingly present, and almost familiar. And three in the morning was an odd time to wait for the bus when they stopped running half past midnight.

Her pace was steady as she crossed the empty street. Behind her she heard his steps begin. _It’s not fair_ , she raged as she sped up. _I don’t need this, not tonight._ She thought she heard a soft laugh from behind her, half the block away. Her stride lost some of its purpose and took on an edge of panic. 

Marianne turned, and headed toward Hennepin Avenue. If there were still people on any street in Minneapolis, they would be on Hennepin. A police cruiser might even come by…

The footsteps stopped and for a moment she relaxed until a black, waist high shape slunk out of an alley. Its bared teeth as it snarled; it was a huge black dog, stalking stiff-legged toward her. Marianne backed up in the only direction she had - back toward Nicollet. 

She got to the first street lamp and turned. The dog was gone. Across the street in the shadow of another light, stood the man in the coat. The streetlight fell on his face and throat, catching on sloping, shining eyes. It was the man from the University bar.

She ran. 

 _This is crazy_ , she thought with the dead calm of fear. _I’m in a Vincent Price movie. Where are the zombies?_

She was running down Nicollet again, staggering toward Peavey Plaza and Orchestra Hall - in search of a hotel, anything. The footsteps behind her were unhurried, but they never fell back, no matter how fast she ran. 

Just when she thought she might have made it, the black dog seemed to appear from the shadows. It was huge, huge, its head low, its fur bristling. It growled in counterpoint to the bubbling of the fountain. How had it gotten past her? Did it know it stood between her and safety. Hotels seemed miles away now. She wanted to scream, to throw something. She side-stepped and began to run down the flights of steps that led to the plaza’s floor.

The footsteps behind her were sudden, as was the tap on her shoulder. She turned mid-stride and her foot didn’t land on anything. Just before she plunged backward and headfirst down the last flight of the steps, she saw the man behind her, blue eyes wide, his hand reaching out.

Then pain took away her fear, and darkness took the pain.


	3. Chapter 3

Marianne woke to the sound of water - and voices. 

“Are you insane?” A ringing female voice demanded.

“Careful with yer tongue. Ye’ll remember who yer speaking to.” This voice was rough, almost smoky. Marianne heard a clicking, scraping sound, like the scratching of dog’s claws. That reminded her of something… something about dogs…

“You may have killed the mortal!”

“Ah, you amaze me. I thought all mortals were the same to ye.”

“Time grows short, you know that.”

“Time. Of course.” 

Marianne’s head ached, and she felt something cold and hard beneath her cheek. Just like the concrete, this conversation was starting to feel disturbingly real - less like a dream.

“And if her people find her here-”

“Aye, they’ll think of _us_ straight away. They’ll think she was drunk and fell.”

 _Fell_. Yes, she remembered falling - and being pursued. Suddenly she was desperate to get up, open her eyes, get far, far away.  She managed to lift her head, and tried to make sense of what she saw.

The black dog stood beside and above her. The forepaw beneath her nose was bigger than her hand with claws the size of a parrot’s beak. Its hackles were up, its lips curled at the fountain.

No, Marianne realized after a moment. Not the fountain. A woman hovered just above the water, long and slender, a clear sparkling blue. She looked as if a pillar of water had simply formed into a woman, and where she touched the surface it rippled and fell back into the rhythm of the fountain, indistinguishable. 

Then she turned to look at Marianne, and smiled. Marianne was reminded that she almost drown in a lake as a child.

“Well,” the creature said, her voice melodious and high. “It lives.”

“Wh-What are you?” Marianne croaked. She managed to lift herself onto one arm. “I’m gonna scream for the cops.”

The blue woman laughed.

Next to her a rough voice said, “Do it, then.”Marianne started and turned to see the dog watching her, wolfish teeth bared in a grin. _It… talks. Oh, god_.

“An when yer police arrive, what will ye do when all they find is a dog and a pool of water?”

“But-” Marianne turned back to the fountain, just as the blue creature disappeared. Nothing but perhaps an added sparkle to the bubbling water to show that it had held anything out of the ordinary. Marianne rose to her knees but couldn’t find it in her to back away further. 

“Will ye listen now?”

“Why should I, if you disappear when I call the police?”

The creature shook its head, looking both amused and impatient and Marianne wondered how it could have such readable features. “True, were ye to call them the Plum-” the blue apparition reemerged and shook out her hair with a flutter of blue glitter. “-would become a splash of water and I, a straying dog. But what of tomorrow night? Or the night to follow that? Be smart, and listen now.”

But by the last word, Marianne had lunged for the stairs. Her vision blacked out from standing too quickly, but she kept moving. She would outrun that damn creature this time, or let it kill her. Her outstretched hand found the stair rail-

A pair of strong arms closed around her, pinning hers to her sides. She kicked backward, connected with something, and heard a hiss of pain. Hands fastened on her upper arms and spun her around.

It was the man who had chased her down the mall, the tall man from the University Bar. The streetlight slanted over his face and she could see his pale blue eyes and sharp angular features. His uneven teeth were clenched, his dark hair was mussed and she didn’t have time to wonder where he’d come from when he spoke.

“Idiot girl. Do ye want me to lose my temper?”

The words were clearer from human lips but the voice was most certainly the same from the dog’s. That recognition must have shown in her face because he laughed a little, startling her further. She swallowed thickly.

“Can it be?” He asked, a taunting smirk curving at full lips. “Ye see the Plum melt an’ don’t bat an eye - but change from dog to man and yer courage flies away.” 

Anger overtook fear. “Let go of me,” she said coldly, shrugging off his grip.

“Ah mean ye no harm,” he said, releasing her.

“Yes, that explains you pushing me down those stairs.”

“I did _not_ push you,” he said, irritated. “You _fell_.” He lifted a hand as if to take hold of her again. She stared at him levelly until he dropped it to his side again. Then she walked very deliberately back to the pool. 

“What do you want,” she asked both of them. Up close the fountain creature - the Plum? - was not so perfectly beautiful. 

“Your service, until we release you,” Plum answered promptly, perfectly cheerful about this.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever’s asked of you, child,” her grin revealed tiny, pointed teeth. “Isn’t that how servitude works?”

“Plum!” the man-who-was-also-a-dog snapped. Plum looked at him, raising what could have been eyebrows had she possessed them. 

“What?” She asked. “It does no good to lie to her.”

“Nor is there harm _tellin_ her what we require.” 

“And if she doesn’t like the sound of it?”

“That’s enough,” Marianne snapped, eying them both warily. “Tell me what this is all about.”

The two abruptly stopped, looking as though they had forgotten her in their bickering.

Finally, the Plum whistled, low and impressed. “Well, ye’ve chosen well enough in her, indeed. Though that’ll give you a difficult task, you know.”

The man scowled at her, and Marianne thought she heard his teeth grind, looking like he had a great deal more he wanted to say to her. Then he turned to Marianne, and some of that irritation remained. “Marianne McFayden,” he said, his rough voice taking on a clarity it hadn’t before, as though he was addressing more than her. “When the Faerie Courts go to war, they need the presence of mortal blood to bring death to one another.”

The phrase “mortal blood” sent a shiver through her, but she managed to steady her voice and say. “Sounds like gibberish to me.”

He hissed something under his breath. “Let me begin again: we are not human.”

Marianne couldn’t help it - she laughed. Of course they weren’t human. Nothing like them could possibly be human. She felt like everything she knew about her reality was crumbling, and had to laugh because if she didn’t she might properly go into shock. “So what are you?” she gasped.

“We have many names,” Plum said. “We are the Good People, the Strangers, The Fair Folk-”

“The Little People,” drawled the man at her side. 

“Fairies,” Marianne said with another strangled giggle. “You’re fairies aren’t you?” 

The man growled, it came out strange in his human form. “A simplification on your kind’s part, but it will work.”

All Marianne knew about fairies she knew from fairytales she and Dawn had used to read, and, come to think of it, few fairy tales actually had fairies in them. The things before her certainly weren’t Rumpelstiltskin or Cinderella’s fairy godmother. Tatiana, Oberon, even Puck were no help either - these creatures had their roots in horror movies. 

“Are you going to kill me?” She asked, thinking of mortal blood again.

“Not necessarily,” replied the Plum, as if it were a purely hypothetical question. “I’d let him finish.”

The man eyed her but nodded. “She is a Sugar Plum” The sugar plum fairy, Marianne thought and almost started laughing again. Tchaikovsky would never have imagined _that_ thing. “And I- ye may call me Bog,” he said after a pause.

“Bog?” She said, her voice still deceptively close to laughter. Plum was looking at him strangely but Marianne had already established that these two didn’t get along and ignored it. “And you turn into a dog?”

“And a man,” he said, and grinned when she looked startled. There was a touch of smugness in his voice when he continued. “Neither are my true form, but work well enough when I am among your people.”

Plum clicked her tongue. “So, introductions are finished, _Bog_. I don’t want to be here past dawn.” Bog growled at her and she flipped her hair at him. “We are of the Seelie Court, noblest blood of Faerie. Though of course, for every light there is the wicked. For us that is the Court of the Unseelie Fae - the most sodden lot you’re ever like to see.”

“Am I… like to see?” Marianne asked weakly.

“Oh certainly,” Bog said with dry sarcasm. “They’ve laid claim to some land of ours - we’ve resolved to take it back.” He shrugged, almost innocently. “An’ water it with their blood.”

“That’s nice,” Marianne said, feeling a queasy sort of dread settle in. “What do you want me to do? Referee?”

Bog laughed. It was not reassuring. “Ah, the Unseelie Court are as immortal as we are. And how would you slay an immortal?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“A sweet sentiment,” he said, smirking. “But there is a way. With _you_ on the battlefield, ye would bring the- er- taint of morality to the field. All wounds would be true ones, all deaths fatal.”

Marianne nodded slowly. “You… want me to help you kill each other. And all I have to do is stand there?” A nod. “Great. I hope you all die.”

Bog had the gall to still look amused. “Did I neglect to mention that the Unseelie Court are a wee bit less fond of parting with their loathly lives, and will be plenty eager to… prove yer mortality, shall we say, and rid us of our advantage?”

Marianne blanched. “Ah. I guess I would have figured that out eventually.” So this, she thought, is how it feels to be drafted.

“But, ye needn’t worry about that, since ye’ve now been employed,” he snorted softly, “yer own guard dog.”

It took Marianne a good second before she realized he was talking about himself. _Oh no. No no no no_ , she thought.

Oddly enough, the Plum appeared to agree with her, making a distressed squeak until Bog looked at her, a heavy eyebrow raised. “Aye?”

“The plan was-”

“What, to have Stuff an Thang watch her? She’d be dead before noon an’ ye know it well as I.”

Plum made a sound hissing sound. “But- the risk if-!”

“Oh, d’ye think I can’t handle it then?”

Plum glowered. “Fine. I’m too exhausted to deal with you. Off then.” Without another word, without a glance to Marianne, the fairy vanished again. 

Marianne blinked at the fountain, then at the sky. Indeed, it was beginning to pink with early morning. In the lightening of her surroundings, she could see no dramatic change. This was the same Nicollet Mall there always was, the buildings were all startlingly real. This wasn’t a dream, this was reality. This was actually happening to her. 

She felt awake; she ached all over from her fall. her fingers were still sore from playing guitar. _Dawn_ , she thought suddenly. _I could call Dawn. She’d be upset ‘Marianne it’s like 6 AM?’ and I could tell her what happened. She’d sa_ y-

“Rowan and Thorn, woman!” Came Bog’s voice, nearly a street away. “Come along or do Ah have to fetch ye?”

Marianne climbed the stairs with difficulty, as bad as climbing Everest, and when she reached the top the tall man was nowhere in view. Suddenly something brushed her side and she looked into the too-bright, too-blue, and too-human eyes of a large dog. With better light, Marianne could see he wasn’t really black, but a dark mossy brown. No dog was that color, and no dog looked at her like she was the dumb animal. 

“Stop that,” she snapped. “Change back.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I said I was yer guard dog, didn’t I?”

“You’re awful,” she told him. “Where are you even going?”

“Home with you, obviously.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

Marianne had never seen a dog roll its eyes before. “Did ye think I’d wandered into that vile hole last night by chance? You’ve been my study, _our_ study, Marianne McFayden, for many a day. Ah know where ye live.” With that, he trotted ahead of her - still hanging close enough to know she was following him.

Marianne was furious. What else did these creatures know - her social security number? The contents of her fridge? That she talked to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

“What makes you think I’m going home?” She asked sweetly.

“Aren’t you?”

“No. I’m going to the pound - there’s a dangerous stray on the loose.” 

Bog slowed his steps. “Marianne,” he said, his voice was as serious as when he told her what their plans were for her. It startled her into stopping as well. “Ah daen’t want to have to make this hard on ye, or I.”

“Did you consider that _before_ chasing me down Nicollet mall?” 

His glare was both irritated and embarrassed. “Nonetheless,” heh continued, and Marianne wanted to laugh at the very deliberate side-step. “I have not offered ye harm, and would not like to. Would ye at least deal fairly with me?”

“What if I don’t want to deal at all?” She asked, but it came out sullen. What choice was she being offered here? The police wouldn’t be any help, there was no one she could tell… and he was right - he hadn’t hurt her, intentionally. And, according to them, there would be those who would.

Bog must have seen her reluctant resignation in her face, because he began to walk again, and, after a pause, Marianne followed.

“Why me?” She asked, to fill the silence.

“What?” 

“Why are you picking me? Why not just pick up some drunk and drop him in the middle of your scared battlefield?”

Bog made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sigh. “Blame it on good taste,” he said simply. A block later, however, he added. “Ah can’t tell ye, not now at least. Later, when ye know our ways, perhaps.” 

They reached the front of her apartment before she turned to him. “Change back.” When he blinked at her, she added. “My landlady has a no-dogs rule. I’m not losing this place because you want to play Rover.”

Bog ground his teeth, but for once had no come-back for her. He didn’t change like she might have expected. There was no morphing, no time in between where he was both dog and man. She blinked, and suddenly a man was in front of her, straightening the collar on his coat, and scowling at her. She realized it was the Rover comment that had annoyed him, and bit her lip to keep from laughing at him. 

Looking at him in proper light, his skin was still olive-toned but paler than she had first thought. His hair was the same color as his fur as a dog, a mossy tone that didn’t look natural. His eyes were deep set, with long lashes. Combined with the heavy brows, it made the blue flash - surrounded by shadow. His nose, jaw, and cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut her, and his ears, pointed ever so slightly at the ends. 

“What?” He asked, still scowling. 

Marianne realized she had been staring and waved a hand. “Nothing. Come on.”

“Won’t your landlady care about you entertaining strange men?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, irritation seemingly forgotten.

“You’re only one strange man,” she said over her shoulder. He chuckled. “And if I have my way, she’ll never know you’re here.” Of course, of the last few hours, Marianne had not been having much _her way_. 

She unlocked her apartment, and tried not to fidget as he followed her inside. He, thankfully, looked as uncomfortable as she was. From what it had sounded like with him and the Plum this was something he had decided on last minute, this guard-dog job, and it appeared only now had he realized what it was going to entail. Good, she thought bitterly. Let me be too much for him, let him take his claim off of me and go torture some other poor soul. 

“So,” he drawled at last. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Chew off one of your hind legs,” she said, cheerfully. “I’m taking a nap.” 

She pushed past him into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. 


	4. Chapter 4

Marianne woke up a few hours later, stared at the ceiling and wondered how she knew the world had ended. Then she heard it, soft whistling just outside her bedroom door. There was no moment of self-delusion - that Roland had stayed over and was there now. No, she had stopped sleeping with Roland months ago, and he didn’t know how to whistle. 

Her bathroom had two doors, one from her bedroom and one from the hallway. Marianne poked her head in to find the hallway door closed, and quickly scuttled to lock it. Glancing at her reflection, she sighed. “Oh come on, Marianne, as far as you know he can walk through walls.”

Her shower was uneventful. She took time blow-drying her hair, trying to pretend that the sound was loud enough to cancel out the sounds of someone moving around her kitchen, the quiet rattle of dishes. She could almost pretend that her life was normal again.

But she had to leave the bathroom eventually, and yes, when she did, there he was. A tall, dark haired man sat at her second-hand kitchen table, a man who wasn’t a man at all and was proof that all that had happened wasn’t a dream. He was dressed differently, a bronze jacket, broad-shouldered, and close fitting dark pants. Marianne wondered what happened to what he had been wearing earlier.

He caught sight of her and smirked.

“That,” Bog said, in his rough low voice. “Is a very fetching costume.”

It was a silk kimono bathrobe that Dawn had made for her years ago - pale purple with green willow leaves embroidered into it. She thought it was rather fetching herself, but was annoyed that _he_ thought so. “What were you doing?”

“When?”

“Just now, when I was showering.”

“Ah,” he said, his smirk taking on a more childish mischief. “Making breakfast. Come, sit.”

She glared at him, but sat. The table was set, actually set, for two, with silverware and placemats and two wine glasses filled with orange juice. It all looked incredibly cozy and Marianne was all the more annoyed to see that he had handled her stuff with such confidence. In the center of the table there was a plate neatly stacked with pancakes.

She eyed them suspiciously. “Anything in ‘em?”

“No, they’re made of air an’ dew. Of course there’s somethin in them, or they wouldn’t be there.” He rolled his eyes and then gestured with a fork. “Yer supposed to eat them while they’re hot.”

Still glaring, Marianne served herself. They were delicious but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She made a noncommittal hum, when she caught his inquisitive look. She was ready to grudgingly offer thanks when Bog raised a hand.

“No, don’t thank me, my primrose. We’re all made very uncomfortable by thanks.” He took a bite himself and shrugged. “Passable, though hardly brownie work.”

Marianne blinked. What she knew of brownies was baking and girl-scouts. “What’s a… brownie?” 

Bog blinked at her, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Rowan and Thorn, you don’t know anything, do you?”

She felt irrationally stung by this. “No. I know absolutely nothing. I don’t know what a brownie is, or what to say to fairies, or how to accept insults from a dog!”

“Ah’m not a-”

“And if you’re so disgusted with me, you can damn well leave.” She stuffed another bite into her mouth and chewed furiously. Then she remembered he made breakfast. “Thank you,” she said sweetly.

Bog did look uncomfortable. Moreover, he looked angry. He took her wrist with his forefinger and thumb and pulled her arm down effortlessly. “There’s no profit in trying my patience, Marianne,” he said. 

“If somebody wants me gone, he has to get through _you_ first,” she said, her voice even. “I’m sure to die happy.”

An expression flicked over his face, and was gone before she could identify it. He released her. She started to say thank you, but remembered and stopped.

“Ah- I… forgot myself.” Bog looked out the window, and Marianne had a feeling - seeing as the view was the backside of another building - that he wasn’t really looking at anything. She ate her pancakes in silence, while he continued to stare at nothing. They were good pancakes, damn it, but Marianne wasn’t sure if saying so was the same as thanking him.

“How long are you… staying here?”

Bog started and turned back to her, then his smile returned. “Until you go out.”

“Funny,” she snapped. “I mean how long are you going to guard me?”

“For as long as ye need it, my primrose.” She made a disgusted noise and he chuckled. “It’s a war, Marianne McFayden, and wars will go on as long as they will. But among the Folk, wartime is something of a recreation and as consequence, has a bit more ritual. The war will begin on May Eve, and end on the eve of All Hallows. If neither side wins by then, well, we withdraw, only to begin again next may, until business is done.”

“I take it May Eve is the end of April. All Hallows is… that’s Halloween?” Marianne blinked, horrified. “That’s six months!”

Bog looked uncomfortable. “We might prevail before the eve of All Hallows…”

“ _Six months_?”

He stared at the table. “An’ all the time before May Eve.”

“Oh god.”

He looked up, and smirked again. “It’s no trouble.”

She groaned.

The phone rang. Before Marianne could grab her phone off the table, Bog had taken it in a large hand and stood up. 

“Don’t you dare!” she cried, too late.

“McFayden residence,” he said, pleasantly. “Can I help ye?” There was a pause and Marianne tried to tug her phone free. “A very… close friend of Miss. McFayden. Who wants to know? … Ah.”

“Dammit give me the phone!” Marianne snapped. Bog ignored her.

“Very well,” he said to whoever was on the line. “I look forward to it.” He hung up and grinned at her.

“You asshole!” Marianne snarled. “Who was that?”

“That?” He asked, as if distracted. “Oh, that was your boyfriend.”

Marianne went still. “Shit. That was Roland?”

“Believe that was his name,” Bog said. “That ornamental fellow with no talent?” 

“Why didn’t you let me talk to him? God, and he’s coming over now?”

“Come on, tough girl - d’ye really want to spend the rest of your life pandering to that spoiled idiot’s vanity? This way he’s out of the way, nice an’ simple.”

“Simple?” Marianne squeaked. “He’s going to think I’ve been sleeping with you!” God, she wanted to break it off with Roland, had wanted to for months now, but this was not how she intended to do it. Sure, it wouldn’t have been pretty any way she did it, but at least she had had some moral high ground. 

“Ah, my primrose, are ye so innocent? Boys like tha’ can only be replaced, they won’t understand anythin else. Ye can tell him you’ve fallen out of love with him all ye like, an’ he’s just goin to think your bein difficult - a challenge.”

She was furious. “That’s not the point! I wanted to be better than this - I was going to be better than _him_!”

She hadn’t meant to spit out the last part, and watched Bog’s eyes go wide for a second. “Than-? Then he…?” 

What sounded like genuine concern in his voice only served to make her angrier. “I don’t have to fucking explain my relationship to a fucking fairy. This is none of your business.”

Bog sighed, pacing over to the living room window, and a tense silence came over the room. 

Maybe he was right though; this was an easy way out, a quick blow that might actually end things. Roland’s hurt pride - and there was so much there to hurt - would get him to understand what months of strained relationship had failed to get through to him, that Marianne didn’t love him. Yeah, she had, once. But she’d also been a younger girl, fresh out of college naive to the world, and Roland - well, Roland was cool; a cool dressing, sweet talking musician with a golden voice who knew how to talk to a girl to make her fall. That coupled with the fact that someone like him would be interested in dating - in having a band - with Marianne? She’d been hooked.

She shook her head, it was better not to remember how much she had loved Roland, how much it had broken her when she had first learned of his numbered backstage conquests, how that pain had grown into a constant dull ache when those affairs continued - even _after_ he found out that she knew…

The door buzzed, twice before Marianne bolted up to get it. 

Roland stood there, his face unreadable. He looked like he was trying to look collected, but she could see his chest heaving from climbing all the steps to her floor.

“Come- come in,” Marianne began awkwardly. “Look, I was gonna call earlier but- some things… happened… oh, shit.” She added as she heard footsteps come up behind her. 

“Roland Kline, yes?” Bog’s voice said dryly from her shoulder. Marianne didn’t dare look.

Roland smiled at him, the oily smile he gave people he felt were beneath him and he enjoyed belittling. “Look, mister-” Bog met his gaze and made no inclination to give his name and so Roland awkwardly went on. “I’m sure you kept my little buttercup _lovely_ company last night - but ye can go now. This doesn’t concern you anymore.”

Marianne flushed an angry red. She didn’t want to hurt Roland but this was worse, this condescending treating her like this was something she just did- acting like _she_ was the one who- 

Bog raised his eyebrows, seeming to understand what incensed her. “Why should Ah leave? Yer the visitor.” 

Marianne groaned softly.

This however, finally was a blow to Roland’s vanity. He looked at Marianne. “Are you- is that true? He’s moved in?”

“No!” She saw Bog cock his head at her and she sighed. “Well, yes. But it’s not- I’m not sleeping with him!”

“Well, then you must be getting your sleep somewhere else, then?” He said sarcastically. “You think I’m stupid, Marianne? What, you want to pass… _that_ off as an old friend - then why wouldn’t you have mentioned him last night?”

“Last night?” Bog asked, his voice doing that clear thing it did when Marianne knew he’d dropped any pretenses. 

Roland didn’t notice the change of tone, barely spared him a glance. “You think I didn’t see him at the bar last night? The two of you watching each other?”

“That is,” Bog said softly. “Exactly what I thought.” 

“Well you can think again,” he snapped. “You know, buttercup, after all the effort I’ve put into being honest with you-”

“Honest!” Marianne spluttered. “You think _cheating on me_ was being honest? You think admitting it makes it any better - especially when you fucking continued to cheat on me! You were never sincere, you bastard - and you know what, at this point anything,” she waved a hand at Bog, forgetting in her fury that she had been trying to convince Roland that they weren’t together, and spat at him. “ _ANYTHING_ is better than what I had with you.”

Roland actually stepped back in surprise, before his green eyes narrowed, anger distorting his perfect features. Marianne watched him raised his hand almost in slow motion and for a moment she thought, _In all our fights, he’s never hit me before_ , in perfect clarity. 

Then, just as she flinched in anticipation for the blow, everything sped up and all at once. Roland’s wrist was caught in a much larger hand, his arm then twisted around to his back painfully, and Bog was between the two of them, growling. “Don’t. Try that. Again.” His voice was quiet, but with every word he tightened his grip on Roland’s arm, making him hiss.

Marianne’s heart was racing, between being nearly hit by her ex - who, for all that he was a piece of shit, had never been… like that - and the ease in which Bog had been able to subdue him, she was finding it difficult to breathe. Finally she croaked, “Let him go.”

Bog shot her an unreadable look over his shoulder, but did what she said. Roland turned, looking at Bog in something like fear. He looked at Marianne and apparently nothing in her face was anymore reassuring, he moved to the door.

“Roland-” 

He looked at her one more time, as if he was going to say something, but nothing came and he left - nothing short of running. 

Marianne stared after him, trying to work out exactly what she was feeling. That had gone spectacularly horribly, and she still hadn’t got her heartbeat under control. She shut the door, and leaned against it. When she opened her eyes, Bog was still standing there, watching her. He opened his mouth.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” she told him.

Anger passed over her features and left just as quickly. She pushed past him, sinking onto the couch, and finally he spoke. “I was going to say ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’.” 

She looked up, startled, but he wasn’t looking at her. He passed her and went to the window again. “I didn’t think he’d try to strike ye.” He let out a bitter laugh. “There’s a lot of things I didn’t think he’d do. Ah can only hope my error wasn’t too great.” 

“What?”

He glanced back at her, his expression grim. “When I first heard ye, I was drawn - excuse the coarse simile, like a moth to flame, and when I saw ye…. ye glowed, like the moon itself. I was blinded. I should have seen that that one has his own… aura to him. But I didn’t - and Earth and Air, that might be costly.”

Marianne shook her head. “Okay, I didn’t understand a single word of that.” 

Bog turned back to the window.

The phone rang and this time Bog made no move toward it. Cautiously, Marianne got it. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis. It’s me.”

“Dawn,” she said, and suddenly her throat constricted and she couldn’t speak.

“Marianne, are you okay?”

She took a deep breath. “Dawn, can you come over?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Marianne,” Dawn said, pacing in front of the couch where both Marianne and Bog sat. “You are my sister and I love you. Which is why I don’t hesitate to tell you I don’t believe you.”

Marianne sighed. She should have expected this. “How much don’t you believe?”

“What do you mean ‘how much’? The unbelievable parts. Starting with your gentleman caller over here,” she pointed accusingly at Bog, who actually squirmed a little and tried to make himself smaller. “Being a fairy, who can turn himself into a dog, at that. Though, I do believe that Roland tried to hit you,” she added, her voice softening. Marianne was heartened by that, at least. 

But she needed Dawn on her side in all of this. It might be dangerous for her to know everything, might put a target on her back as well as Marianne’s but this was a war, as Bog frequently reminded her, and wars had a way of coming home, she knew, and she wanted her sister prepared.

She gave Bog a look. “I don’t suppose you’d prove it to her?”

Bog gave her a look back. “It would serve ye right if I shook my head sadly and said ye’d been like this since I found ye last night.” He sighed, a tried sound and got to his feet. “Watch closely. I’m not doin this again.”

A second later, Dawn sat heavily on the couch next to Marianne, her blue eyes wide as saucers as she took in the large, too-intelligent dog that sat where Bog had been a moment earlier. “There,” Bog said, his accent a bit heavier in this form. “Are ye satisfied? Ah’m nae feelin particularly doggish at the moment an’ would like to change back.”

“My god,” Dawn whispered. “Change back, please.”

Bog did so and moved to lean casually against the wall opposite them. “Get used to him,” Marianne said dryly. “He says he’s going to be my shadow until their little war is over.”

“Can I talk you out of taking her?” Dawn asked him.

He snorted softly, and his gaze was fixed on the floor. “No.”

“If- If anything happens to her, I’ll get you. I swear I will.” 

Bog looked up at her, meeting her eyes for a long moment before he nodded. “All right.”

Marianne looked between the two of them and sighed again. “Look,” she addressed Bog. “Is there any chance you could go for a walk for half an hour?”

Looking at Marianne, his cheeky grin returned as if it had never left. “No. But it’s sweet of you to think of it.”

“I need to talk to Dawn alone.”

“Oh, my primrose, what can ye say to her that ye can’t say in my presence?”

“Do you expect me to hold every conversation around you for the next six months, because if so you can find yourself another sucker.”

He shrugged. “There’s the bedroom.”

“This is my fucking apartment - you go in the bedroom.”

Dawn waved a hand. “Time out. You calm down,” she said to Marianne. “You quit antagonizing her,” she said to Bog. “What do you gain from being a jerk to her?”

Bog raised his eyebrows but said nothing. 

“Now, can you please sit in the bedroom while Marianne and I talk?”

“No.”

Marianne groaned, raking her fingers through her hair. “Are you going to tell me why not?”

He laughed a little. “I wasn’t goin to, but your sister has so sweetly beguiled me.” 

Marianne made a disgusted noise.

“If ye sit in the living room, and I in the bedroom, ye might take a notion of tryin to escape out the front door. I would catch ye, but it would be a lot of trouble and very embarrasin for ye. See what hassle I’ve saved us.”

“Gee,” she drawled. “I guess a pair of handcuffs would make me the happiest girl in the world.”

He ignored her, though she saw his eyes sparkle with laughter. “Furthermore, if I’m in the living room, I am also between you and anything that might come in.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Tough Girl, that very soon the unseelie court is goin to learn of ye bein our choice and are goin to wish to… do you mischief, shall we say. I would feel much better if I could be between that threat and you.”

“In her own apartment?” Dawn asked, appalled, but Marianne ignored her, as did Bog.

“I’m not safe here,” she said quietly.

“Not particularly,” he said.

Marianne felt she should be afraid, but instead she felt more anger. This bastard kidnapped her, more or less, moved into her apartment, was dictating her life, and all to say he was protecting her from something worse. _If these are the good guys, who the fuck are the villains?_

She stood up and stalked over to him, glaring at him and hating how she had to crane her neck to keep eye contact with him. “All right, play guard dog if it makes you happy. I’ll just slip out the bedroom window.”

“It’s painted shut.”

“How do you know?” 

He laughed. “My primrose, I’m a _supernatural being_.”

She grabbed Dawn’s arm, and hauled her into the bedroom. “You’re a shithead,” she said sweetly, and shut the door behind her.

Marianne paced the small space between her bed and the wall. Dawn, on the bed, drew up her legs in mock alarm. “Look, Dawn, kid. You really don’t want to be in on this. This war, or whatever it is they’re doing. I know you’re gonna want to help, you always do.”

“You betcha.”

“But this… they need me in one piece, but I can’t say Bog’s protection includes next of kin. I wanted you to know, so you can know - but in the meantime, maybe it’s best if you act like I went to Europe for the next six months.”

“What, and no postcards?”

“Dawn, I’m serious,” Marianne said, with a sigh. 

“Well, so am I,” Dawn said. “It’s an idea though. What if we just hop over the pond - leave all this behind us?”

“With what money? Don’t answer that,” she held up a hand. “Point is, we can’t - not without getting past the warden outside.”

“You mean Rover?”

Marianne covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “Jesus, Dawn, don’t call him that to his face.”

“Why not? What can he do to me?”

Marianne thought about the speed Bog had moved, the ease in which he had pinned Roland down. “I- I don’t know. But I don’t want to find out, and neither should you.”

“So you should just give up?”

“You didn’t see him last night.” Dawn opened her mouth and Marianne shushed her, ruffling her blonde hair. “Don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll think of something.”

Dawn sighed. “Well all right. As long as you promise to keep trying.”

“I promise.”

“Okay okay. So what was Roland like? Was he awful?” Marianne winced and Dawn did, too. “Okay, yeah. That was an awful change of subjects I’m sorry. You’ve got enough going on without a bout of hysterics over Roland.” She looked around the bedroom and then at the door. “Do you think Rover would let us go eat?”

“God only knows. You hungry?”

“Starving - and you cook like a guitar player. I didn’t have breakfast, and- come to think of it, what did you do for breakfast?”

Marianne jerked a head toward the door. “He made it.”

“He made you breakfast,” Dawn hummed, almost impressed. “And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

Marianne blushed. “Dawn!”

“What?” Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have to sleep with him, right?”

“The subject hasn’t come up.”

“Oh. Well, if it does, just… don’t be a wimp about it.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow. “I’m never a wimp,” she said grandly.

“Hah. C’mon,” Dawn jumped up off the bed and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go ask him.”

“Ask him what?”

“Whether he’ll let us eat, silly. Everything looks better after dinner.” 

“Someone is discussing food,” Bog observed. He was on the couch again, his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, on her coffee table. He was idly paging through the last week’s City Pages, and looked spectacularly at home. 

Dawn blinked a few times, looking a little at sea, but marshaled her thoughts admirably. “Right. I wanted to know if you’ll let Marianne out of your sights long enough to go get dinner with me?”

He put a hand to his heart. “Me? Why, Ah’m grate-”

“No, not you,” Dawn said, though she almost smiled at his ridiculousness. “Marianne.”

“Ah,” he said, and then stretched. “Alas, the answer is still the same. Ye have to think of Mari and I as new lovers. I cannot be parted from her for an instant.”

Marianne rolled her eyes.

“I give you my word of honor that I will bring her back,” Dawn said.

Bog laughed. “And just like that, ye imagine ye can trick me? No, sweet child, try again.” Dawn huffed. “But,” he continued. “I’ll not deprive ye of your meal. We’ll all go.”

“I’d rather starve,” Marianne said.

Dawn considered this. “Well I wouldn’t. And the thought of eating anything out of your fridge makes me nauseous. I say we go for it.”

“Dawn, are you crazy? We can’t take him out in public! We have no idea what he’ll do!” Bog blinked up at her, achingly innocent.

Dawn thought again. “We’ll go to some place on West Bank. He can do whatever he wants there and no one will bat an eye.”

Marianne gave a noncommittal grumble; west bank held a far more eclectic array of foods than Marianne usually had a taste for, but she was right - the university crowd that practically lived down there? They wouldn’t notice Bog if he changed right in front of them. “Fine,” she groused. She pointed a finger at Bog. “What did I do to deserve _you_?”

“Get a jacket,” Dawn told her. 

Bog simply smiled, and there was something in that smile, in his eyes, that offered a lazy sort of challenge. She narrowed her eyes at him and went to her bedroom. 

She grabbed her large leather jacket, turning the collar up. “Tough girl,” she said to her reflection and tried out a sneer. It made her feel a little better.

Dawn’s station wagon was parked at the bottom of the hill that housed her apartment complex. In the building’s long shadow the air was willy. “Don’t you need you coat?” She asked Bog. “Aren’t you cold?”

“What coat?”

“The one you wore last night. What ever happened to it anyways?”

Bog tipped his head back and laughed.

“Excuse me for asking,” she grumbled, but wasn’t really annoyed. She plodded down to the car and waited for him to follow. Only once she looked up from yanking the door open did she realize he was standing back a few paces, eyeing the car, his lip curled.

“What’s wrong?”

He made a face, as if he’d stepped barefoot on a dead squid.

Marianne leaned back against the car. “If you want to walk, we’ll meet you there,” she beamed at him. “Maybe.”

“Ah… would nae be comfortable in that.”

“Gosh, I should have told Dawn to bring the Mercedes.”

Dawn stuck her head out the door and looked at them . “Hey, Boggy - we’ll roll down the window and you can ride with your tongue out.”

Marianne glanced at Bog but it appeared her mocking had gone over his head this once. He said only, “I would feel much better with the windows open.”

It was a cold ride. Bog sat in the backseat, and though he didn’t lean out the window, he did sit very close to it. Marianne slumped in the passenger seat, her shoulders hunched against the chilly breeze, and whistled all she could remember of “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

Dawn took the U of M West Bank exit and said, “Hey, Boggy! If you can really do magic, find us a parking spot!”

“That is not one of the things I can do.”

“Then what good are you?”

Bog, to Marianne’s surprise, said nothing. She turned and looked at him over the seat. He’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“You okay?” She asked.

“Yes.” He cut the word off neatly at the end. 

“You don’t sound like it.” _Why do I care?_ She wondered, surprised. 

The seat bumped her under the chin as the car bounced over something. Marianne turned around and found they were lurching into a gravel lot. “Remind me,” Dawn muttered. “To stay off West Bank on a Saturday night.”

Marianne laughed. “And out of downtown, and Uptown, and University Avenue. I always do. You always ignore me.”

“Heh,” Dawn parked the car at the far end of the lot and flung the door open. “Look out for puddles.”

Mindful of her sneakers, Marianne did. Bog was fumbling his hands across the inside of the car door, his face tense. 

“What’s the matter?” She asked him.

“Ah- Ah daen’t know how to open this.” He smiled, but he looked almost afraid. _Note to self, Fae don’t like small spaces. Makes sense_. 

She opened the door for him. “Here,” she said. She pointed at the handle. “You pull that toward you to open it. If that doesn’t work, you might need to pull this up first-” she gestured to the knob on the door that was the lock, “-and if that doesn’t work, it means the doors fucked and you gotta yell at Dawn to deal with it.” Bog swung his long legs out of the car and Marianne was distracted. “You’re not wearing shoes!”

He straightened up, breathing the evening air deeply.  “Yes.”

“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” Marianne said, as Dawn showed up at her elbow. Bog looked baffled. “You can’t go in without shoes.”

“Tell you what,” Dawn said. “You turn into a dog, and we’ll tie you up outside while we eat?”

Bog snorted. “A pity I have to deny ye that pleasure. Come along.” He strode across the gravel yard. 

Dawn was staring after him, looking pale. When Marianne touched her shoulder, she pointed after him. Bog now wore low black boots.

Supernatural being, indeed. 

The corner bar they decided on was small, full but not crowded and easy to find a spot in. Bog waited for them by the door, and they shared a table tucked into a corner. Oddly enough, Bog didn’t mind this close space as much as he had the car. 

Dawn looked through the menu, which Marianne had to admit, wasn’t as full of strange vegetarian concoctions as some bars in the area. “I’m buying,” she announced. “So don’t starve yourself.”

“Does that include me?” Bog asked.

“Do you have money?”

“No,” he said.

“Then it includes you.”

Marianne eyed him. “How did you pay the cover charge last night?”

“By magic,” Bog said. She groaned.

They ordered, and Marianne found her eyes getting drawn again and again to a small stage by the bar. It was larger than the stage at University Bar and better lit, but it still didn’t give a band much room to really show themselves off. They’d have to play a mean game of Tetris to fit a keyboardist up there.

“Nothing bigger than a five piece,” Dawn said, following her gaze.

Marianne looked back at her. “You read my mind.” 

“What mind?” Marianne poked her nose with a snort.  

“Whatever,” she added. “It’s not my problem anymore.” She tore into her pizza with unnecessary violence.

Dawn looked skeptical. “So you say. What are you gonna do if you’re not working with a band?”

“I’ll find a job.”

“The whole city’s on unemployment, and you’re gonna find a job,” she said.

“Dawn, I know where this is going,” Marianne said warningly. “And I’m not doing it.”

“I’m just saying there is nothing wrong with asking Dad for money-”

“No.”  She looked up from her pizza to find Bog looking at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “Having fun?” She asked him bitterly.

He nodded.

Marianne glared at him, but her eyes fell back on the stage. It was completely natural, she told herself, to feel a little pang of jealousy for whatever band would be rocking that stage later in the night. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, she needed to get her head out of her old rock n’ roll dreams and realize that she needed a real job, and a real life.

“How are you going to go about it?” Dawn asked. “Finding a job, I mean.”

“The usual ways,” Marianne muttered. “Guess I can tell them I can type.”

“Don’t forget answering the phone - you can answer a mean phone,” Dawn teased.

Bog had propped his head in his hands, watching them with interest. “What’s your problem?” Marianne asked.

He shook his head. “Nothin at all. Ah’m fascinated, really. I’ve never applied for employment. Sounds educational. Where do we go?”

“Not for you, buddy,” Marianne said. She felt a cold spot settling into her gut. “I can’t job hunt with you along.”

“I promise to be on my best behavior.” He tilted his head, his blue eyes clear and innocent and Marianne knew enough by now to know that was danger.

Marianne clasped her hands under the table. “Your behavior doesn’t matter, you can’t come with me. No one job hunts on the buddy system.”

“Ah,” he said. “Tell me then, what happens when someone does offer ye work?” Marianne realized what the cold spot in her gut was. She clenched her jaw and stared at him, he stared back. “As I said to Dawn, ye must think of us as new lovers, my primrose. I can hardly be parted for you for minutes - separation for all the daylight hours is out of the question.”

Marianne felt anger pushing the tears up behind her eyes, and she shook her head hard and looked away. Blinking rapidly, she told herself she would not cry in front of him, even from frustration. She hadn’t even cried when Roland almost hit her. She rubbed her eyes and met the eye of another patron at the bar. She wondered what this looked like to them. Lover’s quarrel… or worse.

Dawn was scowling at Bog, clearly angry at him for making Marianne unhappy but unsure what to do about it, but Bog’s attention was on Marianne alone. “What are you thinking?” He asked suddenly. 

“Me? Thinking?” Marianne asked.

Bog reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly. “You. Thinking. Ah’d prefer that ye not cause me trouble over this.” 

“Let me go. Please.” She said it a little louder than necessary. The table next to them looked over. Dawn was looking, too, frowning. _Follow my lead, kid_ , Marianne prayed.

“No,” Bog said softly. “I suspect ye’ll do somethin fooling if I do.”

Marianne pulled against his grip. “Please - you’re _hurting_ me!” He wasn’t, but for an instant his grip loosened. She stepped back, knocking her chair over. 

The bar’s manager appeared behind Bog. “Do you need help, miss?” He asked Marianne, and put a restraining hand on Bog’s shoulder.

Marianne made a show of touching her cheek, as if it were an unconscious gesture. “Yes,” she said, meeting Bog’s eyes and watching them widen. “I won’t go back with you,” she said loudly, hoping it carried. “I won’t let you hit me again.”

For an instant, Bog sat wide-eyed. Then he rose out of his chair with a snarl. Dawn shrieked, loud and dramatic. “Stop him!” She cried. “He’ll kill her!”

The manager grabbed Bog’s arm, and Marianne bolted for the front door, twisting through the crowd of people, working a plan in her head. _There’s a taxi stand across from the Cedar Theater. Oh, god, please let there be a taxi there_. She’d go as far as her money would let her, worry about the destination later… 

The sky over cedar avenue was beginning to purple, the night air a cold slap against her skin. She kept sprinting, dodging traffic, counting the blocks between her and safety. There, far down the street, she could see the roof light of a taxi. Three blocks, two blocks -

From an alleyway between shops, a few feet away, a figure stepped into her path. For an instant, Marianne thought it was a simple drunk, for another she thought it was Bog. But even in the evening light, it was entirely shadow - then it raised its head, smiling with far too many teeth. It’s eyes were milky-white, like blind fish in deep water. 

A shadowy arm rose, holding a double-curved bow, and the creature sighted on her with an arrow that was translucent white. For a second time that day, Marianne felt everything move in slow motion; the loosing of the arrow, her too frightened and too shocked to do anything about stopping it, and then the sound of a familiar snarl.

And then she was on the ground, Bog having shoved her out of the arrows path. She heard the sound of something shattering, and looked up just in time to see the shadow creature look at Bog in something closer to the horror she felt, and flee. 

“Are ye hurt?” Bog’s voice asked by her ear. An instant later, he had an arm around her and was hauling her up. “Come, Tough Girl, we can’t stay here. They’ll be calling for reinforcements soon enough, and no doubt yer gallant knights are pickin themselves up and summonin the police.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about. _Oh, the bar_. “Did you hurt them?”

“Ah tried not. Please don’t just hang there like a sack, love.” 

Marianne tried to get to her feet, and then began to shake. “Th-that- that thing… they’re really trying to _kill_ me, aren’t they?”

“Shhh, shhh. They failed. Yer all right.”

She realized suddenly that he still had his arm around her. She stepped quickly away.

There were footsteps and Dawn joined them, her eyes enormous. “You!” Bog snapped, as if that were insult enough. “The next time ye assist in such an ill-considered, dangerous little trick I’ll knock ye into yer next life and regret it later, if then.”

“What was that?” Dawn asked, and her voice broke.

He laughed bitterly. “That, my innocent, was the enemy. I’d expected them to find out soon,” he murmured, more to himself. “But Oak and Ash, not so soon as this.”

“Are they- are they all like that?” Marianne asked.

“No,” he looked down at her. “The Unseelie Court wear many shapes an have many powers. Not unlike our Court, indeed.” Then he seemed to remember his anger and took her by the shoulders. “D’ye see now, that I _must_ stay with ye? I am all the stands between ye and the likes of that!”

Marianne pulled away from his hands. “Well, goddamn, just how did I get along without you?” She snapped, fear and adrenaline making her angry. “The only reason the ‘likes of that’ are after me is because the likes of you found me first!”

Bog looked away. “That is true,” he said shortly.

“So let me go.”

He shook his head - with his anger gone, he just looked tired. “I can’t.”

Now Marianne looked away, studying the broken bits of arrow around her. Bog must have caught it, she realized, and crushed it in his hand. 

“Now, won’t you come away?” He said with a sigh. “Or will ye wait until they send another message of goodwill, and see if I can stop that one, too?”

They went back to the car. As they pulled onto Cedar, Marianne spotted a police car. “Get down!” She hissed at Bog.

“What?”

She sighed, and shoved his head down herself, until they passed the car. “As far as I know, half that bar is planning to file an assault charge.”

He raised an eyebrow. “An’ who’s fault is that?” She said nothing, and when he spoke again she could hear a bit of amusement reenter his voice. “Do ye still want gainful employment?”

“If I don’t get gainful something, I won’t be eating in six weeks.”

He hummed. “Ye have to make money, an I have to stay by your side. Now, how do we satisfy both of those?”

“You can rob liquor stores and take me along as a hostage,” she suggested.

“Interesting. Nay, I have a better idea.” Bog paused. “Why don’t we start a band?”

“Haven’t I heard that before,” Dawn said.

“Oh, shit,” Marianne said. 


	6. Chapter 6

The car turned onto her apartment complex. “Wanna come up?” Marianne asked her sister. 

“That’s why I’m looking for a parking spot.”

“You’ll need two for your Titanic here.” 

“Haha,” Dawn said dryly, swinging into the widest spot she found, down the block from her building.

Bog all but leapt from the car before Dawn even turned the engine off, and Marianne was a little impressed with how quickly he’d picked up using the door. “I feel I should warn ye,” he said. “That’s it’s going to rain. You’ll have a long, wet walk back if ye leave yer car here.”

Dawn shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s worth it for the view.” Across the street, where Dawn pointed, one could see Loring Park, dotted with the orange globes of its lampposts, gleaming on sidewalks and reflecting in its small pond. Muffled birdsong could remind a person that, even in Minnesota, spring was on the horizon.

“Aye,” Bog said softly. “I can see that.”

At the door to her apartment, he held a hand out for Marianne’s keys.

She frowned. “Why?”

His smile was brilliant and dangerous. “I want to see if ye’ve had any uninvited guests. Don’t ye think I should, before I let you go in?”

Marianne thought about some shadowy, toothy figure hiding in her apartment and shivered. Dawn put a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Then she plucked Marianne’s keys out of her hand and passed them to Bog. 

He squatted, studying the lock before inserting the key, turning it with surprising delicacy. Then he stood and rested his forehead on the door for a moment. When Marianne began to ask what he was doing, he put a finger to her lips and shook his head. Then he opened the door and slipped through it.  

“Do you get the idea that he’s seen to many Man from U.N.C.L.E. reruns?” Dawn whispered.

“You’re the one who gave him the keys.”

“Hey, if he wants to poke around your apartment for safety, no harm done. Besides,” she grinned. “I always liked those spy shows.”

Marianne shook her head, smiling, before turning back to the door. “What’s taking him so long?”

“Maybe he found a cat to chase.”

Then the door opened and Bog was there, bowing a theatrical low bow. He looked exquisitely out of place in her shabby apartment. “Enter, my primrose. All is in order.”

Everything did look to be all right, her kitschy lamp was lit, and by its light Marianne could see her old newspapers, magazines and junk mail neatly stacked on the trunk. “What about the bedroom?”

“I checked in there, too. Ye may sleep the sleep of the efficiently protected.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But did you find anything?”

“If I said yes, ye’d be frightened. If I said no, ye’d think ye don’t need me. Silence is my wisest course.” He grinned that taunting grin of his, crooked teeth on full display, but Marianne thought she saw another expression briefly cross his eyes. 

Dawn headed for the stereo, plugging her ipod in, a moment later The Untouchable’s were singing ‘Free Yourself’. “Easy for you to say,” Marianne muttered before addressing Dawn. “You want coffee?” 

Bog turned to Marianne, blue eyes wide. “Ye make coffee?” His voice was full of longing. “Ah love coffee.”

Dawn snorted. “Just what we need, a mad dog with coffee nerves.”

Marianne ignored her. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? We could have had it at breakfast?”

He looked embarrassed. “Aye, well that was my treat, and I don’t know how to make coffee.”

“You can make pancakes but not coffee?”

“Pancakes, my inquisitive flower, are a practically universal item.”

“So’s coffee,” Dawn said.

“Not,” Bog said disdainfully. “Where _I_ come from.”

Marianne snorted softly. “I’ll make some now,” she said and headed to the kitchen. She plugged in the coffee player and listened as Patty Smyth’s The Warrior came on. Marianne watched the coffee for a moment and then returned to the living room.

Dawn was hunched forward on the couch, tapping out a drum beat on the trunk. Bog sat in the chair by the window, picking at the upholstery. Looking up, he noticed Marianne and jerked his head toward the stereo where Smyth’s voice began the second verse. “She’s very good.”

“That’s nice. Why don’t you draft _her_ , and I’ll stay here?”

Bog shook his head and looked away. 

Marianne came over to him, crouching at the arm of the chair and looking at his downturned face. “Hey. I’ve asked this before and you never answer it. Why me? Was there some particular reason?” He dug his index finger into the arm and looked wholly absorbed in it. “Did you just stumble on me, and now that you’ve decided you can’t throw me back?”

He looked up at her through his lashes. Ridiculously long and thick, they rimmed his bright blue eyes like eyeliner. “Don’t ask me, please,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the stereo. “If ye ask me again, I shall tell you - and that would be the wrong thing to do.”

Marianne could hear the appeal in his voice and scowled. But she did not repeat the question. Instead she asked, “Will you ever tell me? I’d prefer to know I’m not in danger out of sheer dumb luck.”

“After May Ever, after the battle. If ye still want to know, ask me then.”

The coffeemaker made its rattling noise that meant it had done it’s job. Bog hopped to his feet, startling her. “I’ll get it,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Careful,” she murmured. “He might be trying to make up for those first impressions.

Marianne ran her fingers through her hair and came to plop on the rug in front of her sister. “A jail is still a jail, no matter how nice the jailor is.”

“Comforting to hear you say so.”

Marianne grinned up at her. “What, you thought I was on the rebound from Roland?”

“Maybe. All I know is Boggy can be pretty cute when he wants to be - in a mischievous Loki kinda way.” 

“Yeah, well no one’s cuter than Hiddleston.”

Bog came out of the kitchen, carrying three mugs of coffee. Subtly as possible, Marianne looked him over. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. He could be a fairly... decent - well, human being for lack of a better description - when it suited him. But that was just it, he behaved in whatever manner suited him, and Marianne could only grasp at straws at how much of that was playacting. She had no idea what might be his true nature.

“So,” Dawn continued, having sent Bog back for cream and sugar. “What kind of band is this going to be?”

Marianne stretched. “It should be a rich and famous band.”

Dawn nodded. “And?”

“And it should have a recording contract.”

“That’s part of being rich and famous.”

“Oh, come on, Dawn. I’m joking!”

“Well, I’m not,” Dawn said. “You say you want a rich and famous band, that automatically means no Top 40 crap, and no country rock bars.”

Marianne blinked. “Promise?”

“I get the feeling you’re not gonna be much help,” Dawn sighed.

“Look, this is new to me,” Marianne said. “By ‘no Top 40 crap’, do you mean no Top 40 or no crap off the Top 40?”

“Hmm. I mean, nothing we have to play just because people heard it on the radio.”

Bog came back with the cream and sugar, shaking his head at Dawn. “Criminal,” he said. “Cream is for cats.” He sat down next to Marianne on the rug.

“Nah, cream is for chocolate mousse.” Dawn happily doctored her coffee.

“Chocolate mousse?”

“Yep. Try it some time - it’s better than sex.” Marianne gave her a look and Dawn quickly added. “I’ve heard.” Bog, to Marianne’s surprise, looked quickly away. “Anyway, you’re changing the subject. We’re creating a band here.”

“Marianne should sing practically everything,” Bog said immediately.

“Who asked you?” Marianne grumbled.

“Of course she should,” Dawn said, ignoring her. She nodded decisively. “In fact, she should be able to put her guitar down once and while. This sort of calls for five pieces.”

“Does nobody care what I think?” Marianne said piteously.

Bog looked at her, thick eyebrows raised in inquiry. “You don’t agree?”

“Well... yeah-”

“Good,” Dawn said. “Let’s see. You need someone on sticks - that’s me - and a top notch bass player. A good versatile guitarist, and a keyboard player with good hands... and all of them should be able to do backup vocals. Am I missing anything?”

“Yeah,” said Marianne. “Everything between your ears.”

“Oh c’mon, Mari. What do you want, a horn section?”

“No, it’s a great shopping list. Where are you going to _find_ these people?”

Bog raised a hand, and Marianne turned to look at him, wondering why he was behaving like a kid with a question. Then she realized he was _volunteering_. “Oh no. Nuh-uh.”

Dawn caught on to, far more enthusiastically. “Wait, you can _play_?” 

Bog shrugged. “Music is a common enough skill among our Folk.” 

“What do you play, pipes?” Marianne asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “What would you like me to play?”

Dawn raised her hands like mediating a sports match. “All right. Boggy, we can audition you once we get some takers.”

Marianne squeaked. “Audition? My god, where? This apartment isn’t big enough for that!”

“Well now that you’re taking this seriously, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Besides,” she added, smug. “We only need to audition for guitar and bass. I know a keyboard player.”

“Who?”

“Sunny Hopkins.”

“Jesus Christ.” She had heard of Sunny before. “But isn’t he still in Summer Moon?” 

“Nope. Gus and whatshername both moved to New Orleans, so Sunny is out of a job.”

“Do you think he’d go for something like this?”

“I think,” Dawn managed to sound even more smug. “That we should ask him.”

They discussed it for a while longer, but Dawn seemed dead set on having Sunny in their band. Marianne’s eyes kept being drawn back to Bog. He had drawn his long legs up under his chin, his arms loosely crossed over them. His hands were large, his fingers were long and bony and dextrous. His clothing, his messy dark hair, the sharp features... christ, the guy just _looked_ like a guitar player. 

Rain began to pat at the window. “Oop, looks like Rover’s right. I’m gonna get wet,” Dawn got up with a sigh.

“I’d offer you the couch, but it’s on long-term lease,” She glared at Bog.

Dawn shook her head. “S’okay. I’ll run for it.” She offered Marianne a hand up, and gave her a short hug. “Thanks for telling me everything, sis. You, watch your step,” she added, pointing to Bog.

He looked busily at both feet.

After she left, Marianne went about gathering the cups and drifted into the kitchen. Behind her, she heard Bog move into the doorway. 

“She would take care of you, is she could,” he said.

Marianne snorted. “Yeah. Some big sister I am, when she’s the one looking after me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Bog assured her. “But she can’t deal with what the Unseelie Court will send.”

She turned off the coffeemaker and faced him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to make sure ye know it.” His pose in the doorway was casual, one shoulder propped up against the frame. The way he met her eyes wasn’t casual at all.

“So now I know it.”

“She’ll want to try to get you away from us.”

Marianne laughed before she could help it. “Good guess.”

He closed his eyes and nodded, before going into the living room. After a moment, Marianne followed him. He turned off the lamp, and stood looking out the rain-streaked window. “I wish...” He fell silent, tapping his fingernails on the window glass in something like irritation, or restlessness, or indecision. At last he said, “I wish she could.”

“Could what?”

“Get you away. But the Dark Court would be at your heels before you could go half far enough.”

“Why?” She asked, a touch pleadingly. “Why should they stop me from running away? Aren’t they better off if I’m gone?”

“Ah, my primrose, ye don’t know them. They know now that ye are our choice.” His gruff voice cracked a little on the last word.

“Yeah, it comes back to that, doesn’t it? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in danger at all.”

“Ah know that!” He whirled to face her, spitting the words through his teeth. “Ah know that all too well an’ it does neither of us any good to repeat it. Ah have led mankind’s nightmares to yer door.”

“Then leave me alone,” Marianne said desperately. “Leave me alone and they’ll go away!”

Bog’s hand curled into a slow fist, tightened and then slackened again. “They will not. Yes, we could declare our minds be changed, withdraw our protection and leave ye be. And suspecting us of treachery, or just in the mood for a cruel joke, they’d have ye murdered in less than a day. Now that they’ve seen we find ye fair, they would like nothin better than to march into battle against us with your head as a standard.” He turned away again, playing with the cord that worked the blinds.

Marianne sat down hard, her anger and fear plunging into her stomach and coiling there.

“But we need you,” Bog continued softly. “There is power in a mortal soul that all of Faerie could not muster.”

Marianne rubbed her face, trying to rub away all the emotions that swirled through her. Finally she asked the only question she could. “Couldn’t you have gotten someone _else_?”

Bog began to laugh weakly, turning to look at her again. His blue eyes almost seemed to glow. “Oh, go to bed, Marianne McFayden. Go to bed and sleep soundly, and don’t tempt me into sayin more than Ah ought.”

She stood up and stalked to the bedroom, wondering if she had been insulted. She turned on the light and looked back over her shoulder. 

Bog smiled crookedly at her. “Good night,” he said.

But she did not sleep soundly. Half an hour later she was still staring at the bedroom ceiling. She flopped onto her side and read the time: Midnight. Too much coffee, she thought, or the thunder. But it wasn’t the thunder that kept her awake, or the rain that pelted her window. She kept straining to hear noises from outside, and wasn’t reassured when she didn’t. She kept seeing faces in the plaster walls, all of them with an uncountable number of teeth.

At last she couldn’t bear it, and flung the covers off of her. She grabbed her robe and opened the door a crack. The living room was dark, but Marianne still saw a shadow move against the window and felt her muscles clench with fear. 

Then she recognized Bog’s silhouette, a black shape against the window. He was watching the back of the building through the blinds - her bedroom windowsill would have been visible from where he stood. 

She didn’t want him to know she was there - he’d only say something annoying. She wanted to fall asleep. Yet she stood there, peeking through her barely opened door, like a spy in her own home., fascinated by the sight of him in an unguarded moment. True, she couldn’t see much of him; there wasn’t enough light coming through the blinds to fill in details. Still, Marianne knew if he knew he was being watched, he would turn away from even this inadequate inspection. 

Then he raised one large hand and rubbed his eyes. It was an ordinary gesture, but it was so eloquent of weariness and sorrow in a way Marianne had never seen. She was filled with the strange, shapeless melancholy that music sometimes invoked in her.

Marianne’s hands ached for gripping the doorframe. She pried them loose and went back to bed, and couldn’t remember when she fell asleep.

* * *

 

Sunny Hopkins was a short black man, with a round face and a wide grin. His hair added an extra half foot of height on to him, which he wore with a red bandana that he looked half-naked without. He liked bowties.

Sunny had been in professional bands since he was sixteen, too young to drink at the bars they played at. And man, could he play the keys. He came with equipment Marianne only half understood, including something that looked like he stole it from NASA. OR maybe he built it himself, to frighten guitar players. Whatever it was, all of it came alive when he played it, with some grand electronic passion. A better keyboardist, Marianne could never have asked for.

Sunny accepted everything with cheerful good humor, even Bog. “You from England?” He asked. “Plenty of folks from over there making good music. You play?”

Bog shrugged. “Apparently I’m auditioning.” Marianne had no idea how much of his regretful tone was genuine. 

“Yeah, well - hope you get it,” he said, and looked like he meant it. 

Sunny also brought with him a solution to the practice space problem: the third floor of a building on the manufacturing end of Washington Avenue. His former band had broken up before lease on it expired. Sunny had the key. 

Dawn wrote an ad for auditions, posted the same information on bulletin boards in places where musicians stopped - vintage record stores, second-hand clothing stores, and edgy coffee shops. Then they loaded up in her wagon and went to check the space out.

This time Bog literally stuck his head out the window. “There has got to be a better way of traveling than this,” he grumbled, catching Dawn and Marianne’s effort to keep from laughing at him.

“What do you want to do, fly?” Dawn asked. “Buy a motorcycle or something.”

Bog cocked his head. “Interesting thought.”

Marianne led the way up metal staircases. Sunny had arrived before them and unlocked the doors.

The space was big enough to rehearse a dance company. The right and lefthand walls were studded with windows - some which even weren’t stuck closed - and on the other side of the room double metal doors would have led to the second floor, now barred and padlocked. Sheets were hung from the rafters to soften the acoustics, like ghostly walls. 

Marianne smiled at the heavy oak floor. “Do you get the feeling that no one could hear us unless we played really, really loud?”

They didn’t have a proper PA with them, but they ran a couple microphones through a little mixer of Marianne’s and used her drum machine speaker for output. Marianne pushed a hand through her bangs and looked at Dawn, sitting behind her cymbals, Sunny, playing chords and checking god-knew-what, and Bog, who sat cross-legged on the floor watching her expectantly.

“Ookay,” she said, and slung on her guitar.

It began, a little tentatively, a little simply, until the simplicity became a style in itself. Marianne played a couple Blondie songs, and a Prince number for the heck of it, figuring out the best notes to work in harmony from Sunny and Dawn - occasionally she let her own voice fall away, the two of them worked so well together. Finally they weaned out of the third song with an instrumental recap and a fade.

“Awright,” Sunny said, clapping.

Marianne exhaled, finding a name for the strange tightness in her chest. It was excitement. It had been so long since she had been genuinely excited about making music, about having a band. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Not to shabby.”

“Well I still want a bass player,” Dawn sighed. “I can’t keep you two steady all by my lonesome.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get you your bass player.” Unthinking, Marianne looked at Bog again, aware once again that the band had actually been his idea. “Whataya think?”

“Play another one,” he said, grinning.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey this is back lol 
> 
> Feat. Bands, Motorcycles, Feelings and Impending War!

Dawn got her promised bass player two days later. He was an unimpressive looking kid; small and narrow shouldered, pale skin and big ears. His blonde hair was unkept, and fell over large dark eyes.

He didn’t speak unless he had to but he grinned when Bog introduced himself (’Bog _King_ ’, with an expression of pure innocence that made Marianne want to kick him out of principle), and she didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. But boy, could he play the bass; Marianne had listened to him, jammed with him and looked around to see her amazement echoed on Dawn and Sunny’s faces.

“Well,” she’d said. Unable to think of anything to add, she’d said it again. 

The kid said he went by Imp, and by this point, Marianne was too on board to fault it. He smiled again, shook her hand, and the band got a bass player.

The second guitarist was another issue altogether.

“I liked the third girl,” Marianne said three days later, pacing the practice room. Sunny, Dawn, and… Imp, had left early, something about getting coffee, but she took her time packing her things up. “Maybe a little young, but I’m tempted just to have three women in the band.”

Bog sat on the floor again, his long legs pulled up amusingly, his blue eyes intent, his shoes mysteriously missing. “But?” He prompted.

“I dunno. She was missing something.” She sighed and sat beside him. “Maybe I’m being picky,” she said to the rafters.”

“No, ye can afford to wait - find exactly what ye want.”

“Well then all of today was wasted.”

“An’ why are ye so pressed for time?” he asked, his voice earnest and a little… sad. Marianne looked at him in surprise. “If the band distresses ye, there’s no need for it. I threw my lot in with yer sister for it because ye seemed to want it.”

She shook her head. “Dawn knows me better than I do; I would have gone nuts without this. It’s the only thing I know.”

“But it seems to - Ah dunno - swallow you up. For days ye’ve thought of nothing else.”

Marianne frowned at him and then looked away, up at the shadowy rafters.  She realized there was enough room up there for something to hide.

“What is it?” He asked.

“What’s what?”

“You shivered.”

Marianne glared. “Oh hell,” she said at last. “Why act brave? If I think about the band all the time I don’t think about-”

Bog went still. “Ah. About my people’s… quarrel, and yer part in it. You’re frightened.”

She discovered ignoring the problem for several days only made her feel worse now. “Oh for fuck’s sake, a bunch of people out of a horror movie want me dead! And I’m not supposed to be scared?”

Bog took her hands in both of his. His grip was hard, but not painful. “Marianne,” he said. “I will protect you. They will not - they cannot - get past me to hurt you.”

Marianne laughed, hollow and bitter. “You know, a girl learns how to tell when a guy is making her a promise he can’t keep.”

“Haven’t I kept it so far?”

“I don’t know. Has the Unseelie Court made any more tries at me?” He scowled and looked away. “ _Have_ they?”

He nodded. A curt bob of his head.

She drew her hands out of his. “Oh.”

“Ah hadn’t meant to tell ye; Ah thought to spare ye the worry.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier,” Marianne asked after a moment. “If you didn’t have to worry about guarding me and keeping me in the dark?”

“Yes,” he said.

When he looked her way again she offered him a smile. “Then let’s get all these skeletons out of the closet, shall we?” 

Bog said nothing, but nodded again. Marianne watched him, a weird feeling in her gut. She preferred him truthful than mischievous and mocking, but she found suddenly that she didn’t like him… unhappy. Seriousness made him seem older, and reminded her that he wasn’t human. 

“Hey,” she added, poking him with her foot. He met her eyes, startled. “You want to join a band?”

Bog blinked, his blue eyes going wide. “What happened to auditionin’?”

She smiled again. “Well, I’m not busy right now. Are you?”

Bog’s smile finally returned.

An hour later, she repeated her question, looking at her fae guard with new eyes. “Wanna join a band?”

His smile was crooked and lazy, and a little bit smug and it suited him considerably. It certainly suited the man who’s guitar skills had completely blown her away. “Sounds like a good idea,” he said. 

When he played, Bog lit up in a way she had never seen from him. The Fae liked music, he had told her and Dawn that much when he first volunteered, and Bog’s music taste was a bit old fashioned, but she knew his choices and played rhythm with him. But he watched her, played everything to her, matching riffs before splitting into his own notes then matching her again. Three songs, and she let him take a solo, falling back and watching him work; his whole body moved and bowed with him and she could pinpoint the exact moment where everything else fell away for him, and it was just sound. She knew that feeling well.

She also knew without a second thought, she would never find a better guitarist than him. The feeling was exhilarating and a little terrifying. She wouldn’t have him forever after all.

Marianne was startled from these thoughts when her phone buzzed. Dawn was at the cafe, and wanted to know if they were still alive. She huffed a laugh.

Bog looked up from where he had been studying the guitar in his hands with an unreadable expression. Marianne asked, “You want coffee?”

“No, I have to a wash my hair,” he said, blue eyes laughing again. “Of course, I want coffee, my primrose. I never leave your side after all.”

She tried to glare at him for that, but found a smile came easier. “Come on, then, let’s pack this up.”

* * *

Sunny gave Bog a fist bump and Dawn clapped her hands when they heard the news. Both cheered. Imp gave him a wide, cheshire-type grin but said nothing. He waved off the praise and ordered a large coffee, catching Marianne’s eye and winking.. 

It was strange; she had gotten so used to thinking of him as her personal nightmare, it felt weird that she felt happy to see them cheer his success. Marianne was a possessive person with some things, and once people became her people, she was devoted to them. Against all odds, Bog was becoming one of her people.

They were out into the early hours of the morning, the whole five pieces that were now… her band. She and Bog returned to the apartment and she immediately retired to bed, so exhausted that for the first time she didn’t think about the coming war. 

Bog was on the couch when she woke, playing music through her stereo. He turned it down when she entered. Marianne eyed him warily, unsure how to treat him now that she wasn’t angry with him all the time.

“Adorable,” he said at last, a grin wrinkling his eyes. “Ye look like an iris in bloom.”

Marianne scowled at her lilac blouse. “I think I’ll change.”

“What, an’ break my heart?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “No, no - ye have to eat.” He hopped up, taking Marianne by the shoulders and hauling her into the kitchen. 

The table distracted her from her planned response. There was a bowl of fresh cut fruit, glasses of milk and something under a clean dishtowel. 

“Sit,” Bog commanded and removed the dishtowel.

Marianne stared. “They’re scones.”

“Aye.”

Marianne sat, taking one and studying it as if it might talk to her. 

“Do eat,” he added. “Otherwise the cold things will get warm and the warm things will - ah, tha’ reminds me.” Again, he jumped up, coming back over with a pot of coffee. 

“But I thought-” she began.

Bog looked away, and she could have sworn he was blushing. “Ah’ve been watching everytime ye make a pot.”

“Oh.” Marianne let him pour her a mug of it, and gave a sip. “It tastes just right.” She felt strangely sad, thinking he didn’t need her to make him coffee anymore. 

“Now,” Bog continued, oblivious to her mood. “Ye have a busy day, ahead, an’ Ah thought ye’d be well to be fed before it.” 

She eyed him. “What do you mean, ‘busy day’?”

“While ye were at rest, my seminocturnal flower, Ah’ve been takin’ yer calls-” he raised a hand to stop her indignant response. “Just yer sister. She’ll be here in half an hour to discuss a gig with ye.”

Marianne almost squeaked. “We don’t even have a name yet and she’s found a gig?”

“Ye’ll have to discuss that with her,” he said briskly. “And after Dawn’s visit, we’re goin’ to buy a motorcycle.”

Marianne choked on her coffee.

Bog waited patiently while she coughed. “No,” she said at last.

“Can ye operate one?”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“Is there anythin’ in mortal law that would prevent ye from ownin one?”

She wanted to lie to him, but it felt like cheating. “No, I’m licensed.” She scowled. “Does this have to do with your dislike of cars? Because-”

Bog sighed. “Ah hate t’ bring up questions ye’d prefer unasked but, how exactly were ye plannin’ we reach the battlefields?”

It took Marianne a moment to understand his question, and then she realized the problem. Bog’s issue with car’s not withstanding, Marianne didn’t have a car. She was not going to have Dawn ferry her to a magical war; even if she didn’t want to keep Dawn as far away as possible, it was just embarrassing. 

Bog took her silence and nodded. “The first affair is at a place ye’ll know as Minnehaha Falls an’ Ad don’t think ye’d care to walk.”

“I suppose taking a bus is out?”

“Ah’d rather have my ears pierced with a railroad spike.”

“Gotcha.”

Her phone buzzed, derailing the conversation. Dawn had parked. Marianne went to unlock the door and Bog continued. “About the motorcycle.”

“I can’t afford one,” she called over her shoulder. 

“Ah, my Tough Girl, that is no barrier to yer heart’s desire.”

She moved toward him warily. “What does that mean?” 

Dawn poked her head in the door. “Hellooo?”

Marianne pointed at Bog. “He’s up to something.”

“And the Pope’s Catholic,” Dawn said with a nod. “What else?”

Bog gave Dawn an innocent grin of crooked teeth. “It’s nae so bad as that. D’ye know anywhere we might purchase a motorcycle.”

“A motorcycle.”

“Aye,” he said. “Ideally, from someone you dislike.” When Marianne and Dawn blinked at him, he sighed. “Ah, well Ah can’t have everythin’ - I’ll deal with it. My primrose, would ye protest if Ah used yer bedroom to - er - call my sources.”

She thought it over, and decided she didn’t want to see what Bog considered his sources. She hadn’t seen many of the Seelie Court, and good guys or no, found she could prolong the experience. “Go ahead.”

He disappeared and Marianne turned to her sister, trying to put fairies, seelie and unseelie back out of her head. “So, what’s this about a gig?”

Dawn’s grin was wide and mischievous. “Right. Wanna play the reception of a senior show at MCAD?”

“Jesus, Dawn! How’d you book a new band at MCAD?”

“Called in a favor - don’t look at me like that,” she pointed at Marianne. “I told the guy who books MCAD that we had a new band, he asked who was in it and gave us the gig.”

“So he recognized Sunny’s name,” Marianne said, leaning away from that finger.

“Well, duh, but he’s not an idiot. He asked who was fronting the band - I gave him your name, and he gave us the gig.”

“Oh,” Marianne was unnerved that people she didn’t know recognized her name, but it was pleasant. And the Minneapolis College of Art and Design would make a good starting gig. How could she refuse. “Tell him we’ll take it, then.”

“That’s my girl!” Dawn cheered.

Bog entered again, hands in his pockets, looking suspiciously cheerful. “Good conference?” Marianne asked. 

“Aye,” he said. “An’ I assume from that shriek that ye’ve taken the gig?”

“That okay?”

“It’s yer band, my primrose. In such matters, I’m at yer beck and call.”

“Get that in writing,” Dawn advised cheerfully. Bog gave her a look that might have been a glare if it weren’t that no one could truly glare at Dawn. 

Instead, he addressed her. “May Ah ask a favor of ye, in interest of saving ye from such favors in the future?” Dawn nodded slowly. “A ride for the two of us - to north St. Paul.”

* * *

The motorcycle was a black Triumph Bonneville, in mint condition - in direct contrast to the metal-shed behind a sagging house. Marianne eyed the whole setup warily. “Do you think we should tell someone we’re here?”

“Let him come to us; an’ when he does, let me talk,” Bog said, and then, to her amazement, he pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from his pocket. 

They only had to wait a moment before the backdoor opened and a man came marching out. He was large, and strong looking, He looked over Bog first, the tall, rail-thin man, with the dark sunglasses and overall appearance of condescension, and declined to speak to him.

Instead he leered at Marianne. “Interested in the bike, honey?”

Before she could tell him not to call her that, Bog spoke. “Ms. McFayden would like to test drive your vehicle.” He looked at Marianne as if for confirmation. She wanted to laugh, but managed to nod.

“You know how to drive one of these, honey?” The man flicked his eyes to Bog and then back at her. Marianne knew the look; club managers used to use it when trying to cheat her and checking to see if Roland would object. 

She made sure to hold his eyes until he understood and then said, “I can drive a motorcycle.”

“The Key,” Bog said, holding out his hand.

He was ignored. The man gave Marianne another look over, grinning. “Maybe I should go with you, just to make sure.”

Bog stepped between them; he didn’t say a word, but his glasses slid down his sharp nose and whatever was in his expression made the man stop grinning. He handed Marianne the keys. “Take her ‘round back.”

“Helmet?”

“Ain’t got one.”

That didn’t surprise her. With one last glare at the owner, she straddled the bike and started it.

The Triumph ran splendidly. She took a stretch that included a bit of highway, and delighted in the wind that smacked against her face. It made a beautiful roar, and the gears shifted cleanly and smoothly.

Then, back on a residential road, a thought hit her and she braked so hard she almost flung herself. 

She was alone.

She could take the highway, drive like hell, she’d be out of state in an hour, maybe less.If the unseelie court didn’t get her first. 

Bog would be furious if she ran, she knew that. But she wondered if he wouldn’t be a little sad, too. She suddenly imagined him, waiting with that obnoxious man, waiting restlessly, anxiously - and realizing she wasn’t coming back. He’d know long before the bike’s owner… would he just walk away? She wouldn’t know… she wouldn’t be there, after all…

Marianne put the motorcycle in gear and returned to the house. 

Bog was leaning against the shed, the very picture of disreputable ease. His sunglasses hid most of his face. Only one side of his mouth curving up showed his amusement, and relief. 

“Well?” He said, when she’d switched the engine off.

“It’ll do,” she said.

He smiled and nodded.

“So,” he spoke louder, to the owner who stood several paces off. Marianne wondered what had passed between them while she was gone. “How much do you want for it?”

The man scowled. “Eleven-fifty.”

Bog hummed, and placed his hands behind his back, palm open where only Marianne could see. It took her a second to catch on, and then she brushed seven fingers along his hand.

“Come now,” he said. “Seven-hundred.”

“I ain’t gonna bargain with you. But I might let you have it for a Thousand - cause I like the lil’ lady.”

Marianne wanted to puke. 

“That yer last offer?” Bog asked, his voice cold and hard.

“Yeah.” 

Bog took a step back as if planning to leave, then paused. “Here’s my last. Eight-hundred. _Cash_.”

They got the bike, and it’s title, and a back door slammed in their face. Marianne whooped. “Oh man! How did you manage that!” 

He gave her a sheepish look. “On my own, Ah might not have. Could ‘ave done far worse to a man like that, weren’t for ye bein here.”

She shook her head, giddy with victory. “Well let’s put some distance between him and us.” She settled back on the bike and kicked the stand up before beckoning him forward. Bog eyed the half-seat behind her. “Come on, or did you want to walk home?” He shook his head and took his place while she instructed him on where to put his feet. “You’ll have to put your arms around me until you get used to the acceleration.”

Bog made a noise between a word and a cough. After a moment, his arms went around her. She suddenly wanted both to look at him and avoid his eyes. She put the bike in gear instead. 

They didn’t talk on the drive back, the wind and the engine too loud. However, at a stop sign, Marianne finally worked up the nerve to casually say. “You let me take it out alone.”

She felt the tension in his arms. “That man would have been suspicious if we left with it together,” he said simply.

She frowned at him over her shoulder. “Were you playing; planning to reel me back if I tried to run?”

Bog closed his eyes, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “Aye, that must have been it. Ah couldn’t have chosen to trust ye.”

His voice was calm, distant. Marianne looked away, and did a very poor job accelerating from the stop sign. 

His mood improved when they returned to her apartment. They got out some of the cantaloupe from breakfast, and turned on the stereo. She explained MCAD to him, and he let her ramble as she worked out her nerves for her first gig with this band. 

Finally at a lull, Marianne glanced out the window toward where her new wheels were parked. “Hey,” she said suddenly. “Where did that money come from?”

“Oh. That.” Bog looked enormously pleased with himself. “Sometime after midnight, our gentleman might want to run his fingers through eight-hundred dollars, only to open his wallet and find eight wilted maple leaves instead. Such is the nature of fairy gold.”

Marianne gaped at him. “ _We just stole a motorcycle_?”

Bog looked puzzled. “Tough Girl, he’s done the same or worse to others. He would have done it to us, if he could.”

Marianne slumped onto the couch, tugging at her hair. “You don’t get it. Like, leave him out of it. Listen,” she leaned forward, meeting his eyes. “Imagine he’s got a wife, or a girlfriend. MAybe he gave her one of those hundreds and now she thinks she’s got money for her bills or groceries or whatever.”

Bog frowned at her and she continued. “Or maybe our guy went to the supermarket and spent one of those hundreds? What’s gonna happen to that cashier tomorrow when his door has a maple leaf and is a hundred dollars short? Or his wife finds a _goddamn leaf_ in her wallet? How does she tell him a hundred dollars just vanished? How does she make it through her week?”

“Do you see?” She demanded. “Yeah, maybe he does deserve to be shafted, but how can you be sure no one else is getting screwed with him?”

Exhausted from her rant, Marianne sighed, dropping her eyes to the floor. Then his boots appeared in her field of vision as he stepped across the room to her. 

“Ah… see,” he said at last. She looked up at him. “Ah didna- oh, Tough Girl, not tears.” He knelt before her suddenly, one hand coming to swipe one off her cheek. “Ah never meant to cause you those.”

She tried to smile. “It’s just frustration. I always cry when I’m frustrated.”

“Well, I’ll surely have to mend my ways now.”

The doorbell buzzed and Bog stood suddenly, cursing under his breath. They had both forgotten they had agreed to an evening practice with the band, something to make sure they were ready. Marianne ran to get the door for Dawn and Sunny, and sent one final look at Bog. 

The smile he gave her was shy in a way she’d never seen before.

* * *

Practice ran smooth but ran late and once again, Marianne went to bed immediately. 

Unlike before however, she couldn’t sleep. She was thinking of motorcycles and band gigs, and fairy wars. She was thinking of Bog’s smile and his large hand cupping her cheek and the way he played guitar. 

Finally in her tossing and turning, she heard something move outside her door, and tensed. Then she listened and heard it was only Bog, moving around in the living room. She heard a clink of glass and decided to get up. No use torturing herself alone. 

He had left the blinds open, leaning against the window and watching the night. One large hand held one of her wineglasses. 

“What, my primrose?” He asked without turning. “Not asleep - or is it, awake again?”

Padding over to him, she caught a whiff of brandy fumes before she saw the amber color in the glass. “That’s for medicinal purposes,” she told him.

“Ah’m nae surprised. Ah’ve been consumin’ it for the past hour an’ Ah can tell ye it was not meant for pleasurable drinkin.” His accent was thicker but she couldn’t tell if it was from the drink or from exhaustion. 

“Are you trying to get drunk?” She asked carefully.

“Nae. I am _succeeding_ , in some measure, at getting drunk.”

“Does it help? Being drunk?”

“Not a bit.” He sniffed the glass and made a face. “Ah took care of the money.”

“What money?”

“Listen to ‘er,” he grumbled. “Ah go to endless trouble, all for some obscure moral position, all for her - and she’s forgotten it. The money for that motorcycle of yers.”

“Oh!” Marianne said. “You mean it won’t change back? Really? Oh, thank you!”

Bog groaned. “Ah think Ah warned ye about sayin that.”

“Shit, I’m sorry - I’m just- That- it makes me very happy.”

He looked at her and smiled slowly. “Now that I could listen to with no discomfort.” He raised his glass. “Would ye like any?”

“God no, I hate that stuff,” she said with a face.

“Me, too,” Bog said, and took another swig.

Marianne sighed, and took a seat on the couch. “Then why are you drinking it?”

Bog returned to studying the streetlights outside. “Yer people have a rhyme, Ah believe, for how  many days are in a month. Could ye recite it?”

Marianne frowned at him in silence. 

“Please?” he added.

“Fine. ‘ _Thirty days hath September, April, June and Nove_ -’” 

“’Thirty days hath April’,” Bog repeated. “If ye’ll check yer calendar, ye’ll find we are an hour into the thirtieth and final day of April. The night to come is May Eve,” he said ti slowly, waiting for her to catch on. 

May Eve… he had told her once before that the battle between the fairy courts was a ritual where timing was concerned. May Eve… the fairy war began… that night.

After a long pause she said, “So… you’re getting drunk.”

Bog shot her a look. “There’s no connection at all.”

“You just said there was.”

“I didnae. Ye misunderstood.”

Marianne rolled her eyes, getting to her feet again. “Well now I _know_ I won’t be able to sleep,” she said, and began to pad back to her room. 

The chime of breaking class startled her to stop. She turned back to see the wine glass shattered on her wooden floor. Bog stared at the fragments as if confused by how they got there. “Ah’m sorry,” he said at last.

“It’s all right,” she said and headed back for her room.

She didn’t think she was meant to hear him when he whispered. “Would that it were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for actual war! Oh boy!


End file.
